


a tea party

by BlackJacketsandPens



Series: emily kaldwin and the ghost of the tower [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, cute tea party and introspective void god, this is cute i love this, throwaway comment in my other fic meant this needed to happen, void god is not used to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:57:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9156991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: Another visit from the tower's ghost -- Emily is waiting for him this time, with something special in mind for her friend. Even if he can't really participate, it's the talking that's important.(Part three of the tower ghost series)





	

About two days after her ghost visited the third time, Emily had a grand idea. It would take a bit of work to get it ready, because of her situation, but she thought it would be lovely. Especially since her ghost probably didn’t have much of a chance to do...well, _anything_. And since she didn’t know when he’d visit again, she decided to start getting ready sooner rather than later.

The tableware was the easiest part -- sneaking three mismatched cups and plates from the pub proper wasn’t that hard, given everyone was distracted planning Corvo’s trip to the Tower and given that the pub didn’t host nearly as many people as they could anymore. So she borrowed them sneakily, hiding them in one of her drawers in her tower. 

The food itself? That was harder. Tea would get cold and cakes would go bad, so she had to wait for that. But patience -- and learning to be very, very quiet -- paid off eventually, so a cracked teapot and a battered tin of tea leaves joined her spoils.

She had a distinct feeling her ghost was watching, because it just so happened that the night Miss Lydia made a whole batch of Poolwick tarts -- the good kind, with sweet custard and blackberry jam, even if she couldn’t find any cherries -- was the night he decided to visit. She was glad for that, because she’d snuck half a dozen tarts back to the tower anyway for later, so she didn’t have to worry.

“Hi, mister ghost!” She said with a grin when she felt someone poke the back of her head, and she turned around where she was dangling off the bed reading another one of Miss Cecelia’s penny novels, this one about a philosopher who had adventures in ancient ruins, stealing artifacts back from an evil cult. “I missed you.”

He looked a little startled, blinking in surprise. “Oh,” he said, bewildered. “You did?” She grinned up at him, carefully folding the edge of the page she was on and putting it under her pillow.

“I did!” She said, scrambling off the bed and holding out her hand. “I was planning something special for when you visited again, so I’m really glad you came!”

Her ghost blinked, shifting to stand from his spot perched on the end of her bed and letting her take his cold hand. “Did you really?” He asked, sounding a bit flattered. “What is it?”

Emily grinned, pulling him over to sit on the floor, turning to run about the room and fetch all her hidden items. She dragged a stool into the middle of the room, and then went and got the plates, cups, and teapot, grabbing a pitcher of water that stood on one of the tables to fill the pot and add tea leaves to it. Digging around, she found the portable oil heater Callista had brought to the tower just in case it got cold and put the teapot on it, humming tunelessly to herself, before she went and got the final two things -- the tarts she’d taken, wrapped in a bit of cloth, and her doll.

She put Mrs. Pilsen down next to her ghost, and sat down cross-legged. “It’s a tea party,” she explained to the bewildered ghost. “You have tea and cakes and talk about things. Corvo and Mother used to have them with me all the time.”

“Ah,” he said, and then chuckled. “Emily, you do realize I’m...a ghost, yes?” He asked her, with the same hesitation he always had on the word ghost. “I can’t eat.”

“That’s okay,” Emily said dismissively, waving a hand as she poked the teapot. “Mrs. Pilsen can’t, either. She’s a doll. But you can enjoy the smell of tea, right? I’ll have the tarts and you can hold your teacup. It’s okay. The important thing is the talking part.”

Her ghost snorted. “That’s pragmatic of you,” he said. “But...yes, I can smell the tea just fine. It’s...a bit dulled, I suppose, like everything else, but I can still smell it.”

“Dulled?” Emily asked curiously, deciding the tea was just warm enough and turning the heater off, pouring herself and her ghost cups. She put the teapot back onto the floor and unwrapped the tarts, biting into one as she watched her ghost pick his cup up, turning it in his hands almost curiously.

“Mm,” he said absently. “Dulled. Sight, sound, scent, touch -- I doubt any of it is the same as the way you experience it. It’s a fair bit more complicated than that, really, but for the moment, just leave it at ‘dulled’.”

Emily frowned, licking the crumbs off her fingers and taking a sip of her warm tea. “That doesn’t sound very nice,” she says. “Can you, like...see color at all? And is my voice all muffled? That must be really weird.”

“I can see color, yes,” her ghost answered, with the slightly hesitant air of someone who’d never been asked that before. “But it’s...washed out, I suppose is the best way to describe it. Like a very old painting whose oils have faded.” He turned the cup again. “And no, your voice isn’t _muffled_. Just...quiet. As if you were speaking from far away.” she opened her mouth again to ask something else, but he held up a hand. “Before you ask,” he said. “I really don’t... _feel_ things. Just their weight and a little of their temperature. And I can’t recall what having a cold is _like_ , but that’s the best way to describe how things smell.”

Emily nodded sagely, taking a bite out of her third tart. “Oh,” she said sympathetically. “I can’t imagine. That must not be very fun at all.” She shifted over to pat his hand. “Don’t worry, though, it’s okay. At least you can, um-- sense stuff at all, right?”

“Right,” her ghost agreed with a short chuckle, setting his cup down. “It could always be worse, I suppose. You certainly have a talent for putting things in perspective, don’t you?”

Emily laughed. “I guess so,” she said. “Mother always used to say I’m very clever for my age.” She paused and looked away, staring at the door that led to the bridge between the tower and Corvo’s room. “Corvo used to say I was too clever by half,” she added absently. “He’d smile when he said it, and ruffle my hair. He hasn’t done that at all since he came and got me. He hugs me, sometimes, but it’s distracted.” She sighed. “I’m just glad it will be over soon. Corvo will make Burrows go away, and then we can go home.”

She paused and blinked, going a little red. “A-And, um-- I’ll try to take you with me somehow,” she promised. “Maybe take a brick or something. So you can come to the Tower, too. I can show you all the best hiding spots, and we can play tricks on the servants once they all come back, and you can help me sneak tarts from the kitchen, and we can have adventures when I’m not having my lessons or doing important Empress things. Maybe you can even meet Corvo! I bet he would like you.”

She wasn’t sure why her ghost laughed at that, and smiled to himself, but he put his teacup down and slid it over to Emily, who took it instead of refilling her own empty one. “Perhaps,” he said vaguely, shifting to lean his elbows on his knees and rest his chin in his hands. “Corvo seems not to like very many people besides you, really, from what I’ve seen. And aside from that, I’m generally not very well-liked, normally.”

“What?” Emily said, forgetting her teacup and the last tart and leaning forward. “Why not?! You’re likable. _I_ like you. You know all kinds of cool things, about animals and stars, and- and you know good stories, and you’re funny. So anyone who doesn’t like you is _dumb_.” She crossed her arms with a huff. “And I say so as princess.”

Her ghost laughed, reaching out to ruffle her hair, an almost sad smile on his face. “That’s nice of you,” he said. “But don’t be so quick to say that without all the facts.”

 _“What_ facts?” Emily said, puzzled and a little exasperated. “You’re funny, and nice, and know lots of things, and keep me company when I’m sad and lonely. That’s all I need to know.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, dear Emily,” her ghost said softly. “But I suppose that it doesn’t matter.” He stood, picking her up. She squeaked in surprise, but wrapped her legs around his waist and put her chin on his shoulder. “As long as _you_ like me, I don’t think I entirely mind that.”

“Mind what?” Emily asked with a stifled yawn, the tea having made her sleepy -- and it almost felt like her ghost was rocking her like she was on a boat, humming that sad whalesong again. “Are you trying to make me fall asleep?”

“Yes,” her ghost said matter-of-factly. “I am. And it doesn’t matter. You just...content yourself with the fact that you liking me means a great deal. Alright?” 

Emily sighed. “Just clean up after us, ‘kay?” She mumbled. “Callista will be mad if she catches me with the tea stuff…”

“Don’t worry,” her ghost said, walking her to the bed. “It won’t be seen. Now sleep, Emily. And--” He broke off, almost uncertain. “Even if you don’t see me, I’m watching over you.”

Emily smiled sleepily. “You ‘n Corvo both, then,” she murmured around a yawn. “I have two people watchin’ over me...I like that.” She went limp, then, and felt herself being haphazardly tucked into bed. She still heard the humming, gently, and felt a cold hand on her hair until she drifted off.

The next morning, as promised, the cups and teapot were put away back in the drawer, with no evidence that she’d ever had a tea party at all. Which was good, because thanks to that, Miss Lydia blamed the missing tarts on Mr. Wallace -- and he was kind of rude, so Emily didn’t mind that so much.

Part of her wanted to ask Mr. Samuel or Miss Lydia -- or Miss Cecelia, even -- about anyone who died in the pub or the tower, or even in the area. Teenage boys with black hair. She wanted to know what he meant by no one liking him, by ‘all the facts’. But she was almost afraid he’d be mad if she did, or that it would hurt his feelings. And he was one of her best friends! She didn’t want him to be mad at her.

So she didn’t ask, and didn’t mention him -- well, except to Corvo the next night, when the lack of his presence and the storm outside made her nervous enough to scurry to his room. Her ghost, with the black eyes...and she swore Corvo looked a bit surprised. Though she’s not sure why.

That was okay, though. If he knew about him, then it would be okay when he met him for real. Because he would, she decided. She wanted her two favorite people to be friends, too. But...she thought that would need to wait until this is over. Then they can all...put something back together.

**Author's Note:**

> Ooops, another one. This one is so precious, I love. Tea parties! Poolwick tarts are my really bullshit rename of [Manchester tarts](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manchester_tart), to fit Gristol. And guess what she's reading this time, because hint: it's based on a movie.
> 
> There should be maybe one more in me, but then I might do post DH2 friendship stuff for the series. We'll see. :)


End file.
